Out With The Old, In With the New!
by YoukoElfMaiden
Summary: My first Phantom Fic! Two Phantom enthusiasts take matters of casting into their own hands...to any Michael CSarah B fans, you won't like this. R&R!


Wow. Hello again everyone, it's been quite awhile!  
I wrote this at 7:30 at night the day before I went to NYC on a biology trip, mainly to amuse my friend Breanne who would be enduring the arduous bus ride with me. She found it amusing, and I thought maybe I would finally enter the Phantom fandom with this incredible masterpiece.

Actually, I sincerely apologize for how ridiculous this is. Forgive me, but I needed to put it up somewhere.

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO, any of its characters, Emmy Rossum, Gerard Butler, the original Broadway Raoul portrayer, Michael Crawford, or Sarah Brightman. I own only **myself. Breanne and Amanda also own themselves.  
WARNING: THE PHANTOM AND CHRISTINE IN THIS ARE THOSE OF THE PERFORMERS ABOVE. IF YOU LIKE THEM, DON'T READ THIS. Thanks, this is getting too long, sorry, enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

Christine Daae flounced into her dressing room, flushed with joy from her stunning performance, frazzled by the unwanted attentions of that annoying little blue eyed boy who kept following her around, and quite sick of the author using so many words that begin with 'F' in this atrocious run-on sentence. She also wished those annoying girls, that one blonde and that brunette, would stop trailing her telling her nasty things like, "Drink some water and clear that throat!" or "Get a better voice teacher, Froggy!"

She placed the huge bouquet (which is also the name of that suicidal set manager , with different spelling…Joseph Buquet, wasn't it? Yes I could never figure out exactly how to pronounce that…back to the story, sorry) of orange and pink flowers (who arranges these horrible buquets- I mean, bouquets! Anyway) on her vanity, then looked in her mirror. She played with her hair for a few minutes, trying to discover a brand new hair-style. What a franc-maker that would be!

Christine didn't really notice the loud footsteps echoing in that passageway behind her bigger full-length mirror. She also didn't the loud thunks resounding from the same location, until they were accompanied by a gigantic sob.

"SOB! Oh she hates me, she hates me, she hates meeee!"

"CO-ACK! I mean, um, ack! Angel, is that you back there? Have you come to give me my lesson? Or just serenade me with your heavenly, unearthly vocal cords? Sing to me, angel!"

"SOB!"

Christine sighed. "Are you okay, Angel?"

"Christine? You're in there? Oh! Um….And IIIIEEEEIIII will always love YEEEOUUU…"

The prima donna put her hands over her ears and grimaced. "What is that horrible piece of garbage you're singing? Sing me a lullaby! You know of all people how tired I am after a performance."

Her angel sniffed woefully. "I knew you hated my voice, Christine! I knew it! I'm sorry Miss Daae, I cannot teach you anymore."

Christine gasped, horrified. Thoughts of all the flowers and chocolates disappearing from her life shocked and dismayed her, and she ran to the mirror. "What? Why? You're voice is beautiful! A little on the um…effeminate side, but that doesn't bother me at all! It allows you to sing easily in my register and all that! Please don't stop teaching me my aaaangel!"

"But what about those two girls listening outside your doorway? They told me I sound like a girl! They didn't have many good things to say about your vibrato either, my dear."

"WHOOOOWHAT?" Christine stormed over to the door and ripped it open to find two girls with their ears pressed against the door. They fell into the room with no more door to press their ears against. "YOU TWO AGAIN? How many TIMES have I TOLD you NOT to listen at my DOOR?"

"Caps lock much?" said Breanne, wincing as she climbed to her feet. Lydia immediately stood and walked over to the full length mirror, then pulled it open. Christine screamed; the Phantom screamed in an even higher pitch; Breanne burst out laughing; the author rolled her eyes at herself for writing this study one-shot at 7:31 before a day in New York City.

Lydia promptly closed the mirror and turned to Christine. "Miss Daae, Mr. Erik Something, please listen carefully. We have replacements for the two of you standing right outside the door, so we need you to just follow us-"

"What do you mean replacements!" said Christine and the Phantom together indignantly. "We are perfectly fine in these parts, and we are NOT leaving!"

"Ohhh, yes you are," said Breanne, her eyes glinting dangerously. "We are quite sick of YOUR effeminate voice, Michael, as are we of YOUR incredible out-of-control vibrato and horrible forward placement of your tone, Sarah. Is that how you say it?" she said sideways to Lydia. Lydia nodded quickly and Breanne continued. "Therefore, you are being replaced by the very pretty and talented Emmy Rossum and the incredibly sexy Gerard Butler. Who I greatly wanted to keep at my own house but I wasn't allowed by Miss Let's-Follow-Through-With-Our-Original-Plan," she said icily in Lydia's direction.

Lydia wasn't paying attention and was instead inspecting Sarah's jewelry. Before the diva could protest, Breanne ushered her out the door along with her counterpart. They now protested loudly, but Emmy and Gerard were already slipping into the room past them. Lydia forced the door closed, then turned proudly to Breanne. "We did it! We finally got rid of them!"

Another voice came at the door. "Christine! Christine! Who's in there? Are you cheating on me? WHY Christine, WHYYY?"

"Hmm…" Lydia looked deviously at the door. "Let's leave the original Raoul. He's better than Patrick by a long shot."

"No fair!" exclaimed Patrick from his place outside the window.

The two conspirators turned to the new lovers and said, "Go to it!" Breanne audibly gave a sigh of despair in having to leave her love, as did Lydia although it was much quieter.

They jumped out the window as they heard the first few descending chords of the title song, and flew cackling into the night! After knocking Patrick face-first into the snow, of course.

* * *

Is it really over yet? That depends on you guys. Please R&R! 


End file.
